Small Miracle
by Domon Kasshu
Summary: G1ish, written for the holidays. Christmas with the Autobots. Surly architects, short tempered lambos and confusion over human culture are certain. But when a refugee from a destroyed world arrives, things are going to change.


"Look, all I'm sayin' is, if the hat served as a storage device for nanobots, it could happen!"

"Were it nanites, the snow golem would not be terrified of the coming sun. If they were capable of animating him, they could create a mechanism to maintain temperature... or, at the very least, find a new medium."

"Frosty the Grass Man?"

"It makes no sense at all."

This always happens.

"What about somethin' like a Kreemzik?" Wheeljack suggested.

"Why in the world would a Kreemzik infect a pile of snow?" Perceptor shot back.

"I didn't say it _was_ a Kreemzik. I said something like one."

"I'd be just as happy," Trailbreaker said, "If we never spoke of Kreemzik again, not even something like one."

"It still makes no sense at all," Prowl said, in his usual contribution. Prowl unwittingly started most of the debates. Prowl, you see, wants logical explanations. He needs logical explanations. As such, a lot of human culture bewilders him. It starts with him not getting something, and then the geek squad takes over. Wheeljack says how it can happen, Perceptor says it can't. Trailbreaker tries to keep things light.

Me? I just sit back and enjoy the entertainment.

Our small group wove through the streets of New York, trying to reach our rendezvous with Skyfire. Well, maybe wove isn't the right word. Crawl works better, but even that might be a little too fast. When you've got a convoy as big as ours, you're just as concerned with keeping together as making good time.

Wheeljack and Prowl took point, with Bluestreak, Grapple, Hoist and Ratchet behind. Trailbreaker served as my lead blocker, as no one gave a compact the time of day in the city, even with an Autobot symbol on the hood. Sunstreaker kept his distance, still coming up on tracking. Perceptor and Blaster rode with others, and Sparkplug sat in Hoist's driver's seat, a smile on his face as he listened to the banter. All part of the holidays, he said.

We made the trip for Sparkplug. He and Spike came to see the lighting of the Rockefeller Center tree each year, no matter how difficult. Sparkplug knew people here and there, and he could get the tickets. It became a lot easier when he became our companion, though none of us ever made the trip before. Then, this year, we received a call from Spike's mother. She wanted him to visit for Christmas. His ex-wife, he told us, got more demanding through the years, convinced our association earned him more money.

They'd argued for some time. Spike didn't want to go. Carly couldn't make the trip, his mother complained about his father the entire time, and he'd have to put up with her parents, who were the only people in the world who called him Samuel. Sparkplug didn't want their tradition to come to an end. But then she threatened to call her lawyer, who Sparkplug called a dreadful battle axe and other names far less pleasant. We talked to our legal counsel, and they agreed the best thing to do was not put up a fight.

I chuckled as I thought about the fact we Autobots now had legal counsel. But even though most of the legal summons we received proved groundless, we needed people to sort them all out. Just a few months ago, a toy company filed suit against me for violation of copyright. The judge made the difficult call that I've looked like this for millions of years while their company got started two years ago.

Where was I? Oh, right. The tree. We all agreed to make the trip with Sparkplug since Spike couldn't. I'd been a few times, and Blaster made the trip once before. It was the first time we'd made the trip in such a large group, and it proved a distraction that I don't think the folks behind the event cared for. They asked us to call ahead, and I detected the vaguest hint that they'd just as soon we didn't. Or maybe they just wanted Jazz. Everyone wanted Jazz. We all blamed the Letterman appearance. That was a hard act for anyone to follow.

Still, Sparkplug enjoyed himself. That made it worthwhile for all of us. We'd all noticed the changes in our oldest human friend that came almost too fast for a Cybertronian to comprehend. He'd had surgery not long ago, a replacement hip. Wheeljack offered to design one for him, but he wisely turned it down. Still, the whole incident reminded us how fragile humans were. Sparkplug had slowed down just as quickly as his son grew. It reminded us how precious our time with humans really was.

By now, the debate over the comms turned to the ever popular subject of Santa Claus and his yearly toy deliveries. I paid little attention, until Prowl broke in.

"Listen to this," he said, and patched us into another radio frequency.

"...got another one causing problems."

"Don't they ever look after their own?"

"Guess not. Dispatch, this is patrol car 643. Responding to disturbance on 123rd and Broadway."

"We're getting blamed for something?" Bluestreak asked.

"Incorrectly. Listen to the last call."

A second later, the call came over the comm. "All units in vicinity, respond to a 505A at 123rd and Broadway. A late model red pick up, witnesses report no driver visible. Possible Transformer activity."

"Red truck?" Trailbreaker asked. "We don't have one of those, do we?"

"No. Nor do the Decepticons, according to my data." Prowl paused a moment. "We're dealing with a wild card."

"Orders?" Bluestreak asked.

"Bumblebee. You wanted a field test of your upgraded equipment?"

Just what I wanted to hear. "Yes sir!"

--

By nature, Autobots don't fly. Most exceptions have come up in more recent years, like the Swoop or the Aerial bots. For the rest of us, we need help. Sideswipe has a jet pack. And, thanks to the Decepticons, so do I.

The Decepticons used what you might call a biological weapon, a nasty little thing called cosmic rust. The first time we encountered it, it almost got rid of Megatron for us. But they also kept a sample of it. With a little engineering courtesy of the Constructicons, it nearly wiped us out. But we survived underground for a lot time. A little thing like cosmic rust doesn't keep us down.

Whatever doesn't kill you, upgrades you.

"Bumblebee," a voice called out over the comm lines, "I'm on my way."

"'Streaker," I said, unable to keep from smiling as I did so, "Didn't Prowl tell everyone else to stay put?"

A pause came before the answer. "Technically, I wasn't part of the group. He didn't explicitly call it an order, either. More of a suggestion, really."

"Good point."

"Got anything yet?"

I glanced at the street below. "Right now, just the trail. A few dinged up cars, people watching."

"Humans," Sunstreaker scoffed.

"Hold on, I think I've got something..." I saw it a short ways ahead, a red truck, swerving from side to side. A quick infrared peek told me it wasn't made in Detroit. I throttled up on the jet pack and drew closer. The car drove with no rhyme or reason, not meaning to cause damage, a la the Stunticons, but not looking to have a destination in mind, either.

From the speed and erratic movements, it was trying to get away from something. It looked scared.

I opened a general comm. "I see our friend now. Some kind of off-road truck, and it's not from around here, if you catch my meaning."

"Try to open a frequency with him," Prowl said. "Let's see if we know what we're dealing with."

I sent a signal toward the truck. "Greetings. My name is Bumblebee, an Autobot from Cybertron. It looks like you're one of us." I tried to think of something else to say. "You know, the human customs are a little bewildering, but we've found they don't like us driving like maniacs down their streets."

The truck slowed a moment, but I heard nothing. It sped up again in a hurry, and I heard something. Several somethings, in fact.

"...entering close proximity orbit now..."

"...abandon your posts, get to the ships!..."

"...it's devouring everything..."

"...we lost Command Center 28..."

"...how many have we lost..."

"...it's sending something after us..."

Then silence.

I tried to come up with a response, my mind still reeling, trying to take in what I heard. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What are you--"

A legion of voices responded, all saying one word, over and over again.

"Unicron."

I'd never heard the word before, but it send chills through every servo in my body.

"Prowl," I said, "I got something, but I'm... not sure really sure what. he's not slowing down, that much's certain."

"Intercept," He paused. "Sunstreaker, I trust you've not followed my instructions to the letter?"

"Not exactly to the letter."

"Give Bumblebee support as he needs it."

I hit the throttle again and pulled ahead of the car. If he noticed me, he didn't change his driving as a result. I gave myself a nice cushion, and landed in the street ahead of the truck. Enough room to brace myself, and no street for the truck to bail out on. The truck zoomed closer.

"Okay, look, you need to--"

The truck accelerated, and gave me little chance to move. My right arm took the brunt of it, the servos falling offline as it sparked. The truck barreled past, cars swerving to avoid it. I picked myself up off the pavement, and ran a diagnostic. The jet pack failed to respond, and with my arm out of commission, I couldn't transform. I could only watch as the truck escaped.

Only, it didn't. First one tire blew out, then its opposite number. It started to fishtail, and brakes squealed as it fought against its own momentum and gravity. Physics won, and the truck flipped over. It turned only a few times before a yellow flash jumped into the road and grabbed hold of it.

"We got him," Sunstreaker said over the comm.

The truck failed to respond to its capture, and I wondered how much damage it took from the roll. "It might be damaged, Prowl. It's not transforming." Then again, I had no way to confirm it could. I suspected as much, from what the infrared told me,

"I'll send Hoist. We'll take it back to the Ark, and we can investigate further."

I stared at the truck, and felt another chill as I recalled the messages it sent. I wasn't sure I wanted the answers we were looking for.

--

"Interesting."

That word meant Ratchet saw something he didn't expect or couldn't explain. He peered at the next set of diagnostics, then rubbed his chin.

"Interesting."

Twenty seven.

"So, what is this thing?" Sunstreaker asked, his arms crossed over his chest. "Autobot or Decepticon?"

"Neither."

"A drone?"

"Not exactly." He glanced at the screen behind him. "You know that there are minute variations in the structure of Autobots and Decepticons, what humans might call divergent evolution, and that's how we tell the difference, right?"

Sunstreaker cocked his head to one side. "Do now."

"We're looking at something that shares very few common points with Autobots or Decepticons. Humans might call it convergent evolution. The same result coming in different life forms. And yet, there are some real basic similarities. Like they share a common basic design with Cybertronians that branched off a long time ago. A real long time ago."

"We've heard of stories of other Cybertronians in the universe," I offered.

"Not just that," Ratchet said, and pointed to an image on the screen. "This is the neural cortex activity on our friend here. You see the difference?"

"Yeah. The lines squiggle differently."

"Try and keep up," the medic said. "I'd hate to use my surgical tools to put some creative engraving on your frame."

Sunstreaker smirked. "And I'd hate to leave the Ark without a medic. Please, go on."

"They're different," Ratchet said, as if the conversation never happened. "But I couldn't help thinking I've seen it before. So I had Teletraan-1 run a check. And I found something real interesting."

"Great. After the med school lectures, I'd love to hear something_interesting_."

"These patterns match up with these here. Recognize them?"

Sunstreaker drew closer to the screen, then recoiled in horror. "Huey Lewis? Nooooo!"

Ratchet remained still a moment, the shutters coming down over his optics. I heard a sudden rush through his intakes, then looked back at the screen. "Spike, when he was in a Cybertronian body."

That actually caught Sunstreaker's attention, as well as mine. He looked at the truck. "This thing going crazy like he did?"

"Hard to say. We don't even know if it's a human, or something else."

"How do we find out?"

"We ask him."

"That a good idea?" I looked at my arm.

"I'm going to put it behind a force field." Ratchet took a step back, and tapped at the screen. "Something was inhibiting transformation. These things have a transformation matrix unlike anything I've ever seen, and it's real easy to break down. 'Course, I can beef it up if we have to."

Sunstreaker subspaced his rifle, and held it down at his side. "Just in case."

Ratchet nodded. I'm bringing up the shield, and... he's coming back online now."

At first we saw nothing to indicate the truck woke up. But the engine purred to life, remaining at a steady idle.

"We have you in a force field. We don't want to hurt you, but we've got to take steps for ourselves as well." Ratchet smiled. "Your transformation systems are back online now, too. Just in case you wanted to continue our conversation face to face."

The truck answered with a shifting of plates, revealing the structure beneath. Arms emerged from the doors, while the truck bed swung out to become legs. The grill guard and light bar swing down from the front to cover the chest. As the robot got to its feet, I realized we'd made one serious mistake already. The body frame looked leaner, much of it curved rather than angled. The face looked far gentler.

"I knew about the force field." The voice confirmed it.

I felt Sunstreaker's elbow in my side. "Hey 'Bee. You got your aft kicked by a femme!"

She looked at me, a pained look crossing her face. "I didn't mean to. I just..." She looked down at her hands. "It's me, but it's not. I.."

"Don't worry about it," Ratchet said. "You're okay now, and among friends."

I received an internal comm from Sunstreaker as Ratchet spoke to her.

_Maybe I can ask if she'll kiss it and make it all better._

"Sunstreaker!"

Both Ratchet and the femme stopped, and I took a step back. "Sorry, I--"

"Sunstreaker has that effect on people." Ratchet looked back at his patient. "My apologies. Well, you know Sunstreaker now. My name is Ratchet, and I'm the Autobot medic. And the smaller one there is Bumblebee. I... believe you two met, already."

She offered a sheepish grin. "Yes." She looked to the three of us. "My name is Smallfoot. Thank you... for helping me."

"It's what we do," I said. It sounded a lot better in my mind.

"I'm hoping you can help me, Smallfoot. I've found some basic similarities between our frames, but there's a lot I don't understand. Where are you from?"

"Aren't we... the same?"

"We're from Cybertron... Autobots, to be precise."

"I see." Being a spy, you pick up on subtle things. I noticed the change in her voice, minute changes in her posture, not to mention the internal reactions on infrared. She wanted us to be the same. I thought back to the messages she transmitted, and wondered if any of her kind even existed anymore.

"You're not, are you?"

"I'm a Guardian, from Gobotron. My people are called Gobots."

Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge. "Gobots?"

She stared at her feet. "It sounds much better, in our language."

"How did you get here?"

Again, I noticed the changes. Her optics failed to stay on one of us for long, and she wrung her hands together. Her intakes worked at a faster pace.

"I escaped from an attack by our enemies, the Renegades. Our teleporters aren't designed for sudden use, so... I suppose I'm lucky I'm here, instead of the middle of a sun. I think the transporter damaged my transformation circuitry."

Ratchet offered a nod. "I'm going to talk to Prime, but I don't think there will be any harm in letting you out."

"She'll need an escort," I blurted out, without thinking. I saw the start of a smirk on Sunstreaker's face, but I looked at him and pleaded him to remain quiet. No matter what he thought, I just wanted a chance to talk to the femme about what she'd transmitted.

"A good point. I'll check with Prime." Ratchet glanced back at Smallfoot. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I've still got a lot of questions I'd like to ask you."

"I don't mind," she responded. "I... think I might have the time."

--

"Four million years?"

I nodded, "We were too badly damaged from the crash, and Teletraan-1 fell offline. And then Mt. St. Hillary erupted, and everything started back up."

Smallfoot walked beside me, stopping every so often to look at some detail of the Ark, One of several data ports caught her optic, and she stared at it. "Did you ever dream?"

"A little bit. None of it made sense."

She stepped back from the data port and continued to walk forward. "Dreams almost never make sense. What did you dream about?"

"Do you analyze them?"

"Only my own." She offered a very slight smile. She'd not seemed happy since she first came back online, and every so often, I caught her having a hint of amusement, or interest. It faded quickly, and afterwards she looked like she felt ashamed of those feelings.

"Well, here's a strange one for you." I thought back on it, one I'd recalled not long after we came online. "I dreamed that my internal systems pulled me out of stasis lock for a moment, and I saw Optimus Prime. And there was this small robot hovering in front of him, some purple and gold thing. And this little robot fired on him, and destroyed Prime's head. Then I saw a lot of things... none of them made much sense."

"And that little robot blowing up your leader's head did?"

"Good point." I thought about it. "I think maybe... it's some symbol of facing my fears, and trying to overcome them. Maybe I want to be leader."

"Or maybe you're destined to be."

I laughed. "Yeah right."

"Destiny can be funny, sometimes."

We continued our tour, past the common areas and some of the dedicated lab facilities. We finally reached one of the big stops. I gestured at the large terminal in front of us.

"This," I said, "Is Teletraan-1. This system not only runs the Ark, but has a network of Sky Spys to keep track of world events, can analyze any data we need, and even assist Ratchet in diagnostic and repair issues."

"You forgot to mention I make a mean French toast."

Smallfoot stared. "What did it say?"

I rubbed the back of my head and grinned. "Someone put in a humor subroutine. We think it was Trailbreaker."

"This system," Smallfoot said. "Could it be configured to look for anything?"

"Why would you wanna know that?"

We turned to see a returning patrol behind us, Cliffjumper at the lead. He took a step forward, peering at Smallfoot.

"I was just curious..."

"Real specifically curious. I don't much like that."

"She's been asking about everything, Cliffjumper."

"Like what?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because we don't know anything about her." He pointed a finger at her. "Just because you've got Prime's okay doesn't mean everyone here's just going to trust you."

"Back off, Cliffjumper." I felt relieved as Sunstreaker walked over. "She's our guest."

"Give me a break, Sunny. Just because--"

It happened in an instant. Sunstreaker's hand closed around Cliffjumper's throat and pressed him against the wall. His optics narrowed as his face drew closer.

"Don't. Call me. Sunny."

"What's your problem?" Cliffjumper said.

"My problem is you," Sunstreaker said, his voice cold. "Just because you screwed up and put faith in the wrongs bots doesn't mean everyone else will make the same mistake."

By now, a small crowd gathered around them. Sideswipe came out of it, and put one hand on his brother's shoulder.

"C'mon, let him down, Sunstreaker. He's not hurting anyone."

"Get your hand off me."

Sideswipe pulled his hand back, and smiled. "Let 'em down. It's just talk."

"Heh." He released his grip on Cliffjumper, who fell to the floor and quickly got away. The Autobots drifted apart, but we heard plenty as they went.

"What is it the humans say?" Huffer said, intentionally loud enough to be heard. "The apple falls far from the tree."

Sunstreaker stomped over to us. "You okay?"

It scared me sometimes, how easily he could turn it off and on, the two sides of him I knew. It made me wonder which came closer to the truth. "We're fine."

"Good. Me? I need to break something."

"Maybe a more creative endeavor might be in order." Hoist strode over, a box in his arms. "In all of our recent excitement, no one has taken the time to decorate the Ark for Christmas. Perhaps you could help?"

I looked over. "Smallfoot?"

"It could be fun."

"'Streaker?"

"I said break things."

"I seem to recall hearing Cliffjumper hates garland," Hoist said. "For reasons I can't begin to speculate."

"How much you got?"

"Lots more in storage."

"Let's get cracking."

"Splendid!" Hoist glanced to his side, where his best friend stood, a look of annoyance on the architect's face.

"And you, Grapple?"

"I have work to do," he said. "You go on, start without me. Maybe finish, as well."

With that, he walked away. Hoist merely shook his head.

"It's a shame, really."

"What is?" Smallfoot asked.

"This is the anniversary of the toppling of the Edoian Tower in Polyhex. It was Grapple's masterpiece, and the Decepticons destroyed it to prove a point. I fear nothing could make him celebrate." Hoist shrugged. "Well, in any event, we should get to work. You never know when the Decepticons will come running."

"C'mon lunchbox," Sunstreaker said. "Let's get that tinsel."

He offered the box to me. "You two can start with the lights."

--

"I've been thinking," Smallfoot said.

"Oh?

"About Grapple. Do you think he'd still have his plans?"

"Grapple would keep a scrap with a doodle on it, if he thought it might lead to something one day. Why?"

"Couldn't we rebuild it?"

"We're not on Cybertron, for one," I said, and pushed the light string onto a hook.

"Why not here?"

I stopped. "Maybe. It'd take a lot of work, though..."

"You could get it started, find a place for it. He might want to supervise, after all."

"Almost certainly." I smiled at her. "I'll need to run that by Hoist, but... it could work."

"You have to think outside the box sometimes." I saw the smile on her face fade, and her optics turn to the opposite side of the room. "Someone told me that, once."

"Someone close to you?"

She gave a quick nod. "Yes."

"Were you..." I tried to think of a way to ask the question that didn't put her on the spot. She looked back at me, her head cocked to one side.

"Were we...?" Her optics went wide. "You mean, together?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"No." She focused her attention back on the lights, adjusting one of the strings far more than could ever be necessary. "We never... I never said anything. I never knew how he felt."

"I'm sorry." I moved further down. "A friend went through something like that, back on Cybertron. Met a femme, they hit it off really well. And he never said anything."

"What happened to her?"

"As my friend Spike would say... she hooked up with a jock."

"Oh."

"Sometimes you have to dare boldly," I said. "Same friend told me that, just after it went down."

"Sunstreaker?"

"That's the one." I chuckled. "You seem to have gotten the sense of him already."

"He sort of seems like a... jock. Isn't he?"

"He's Sunstreaker. He delights in defying categories. His brother's more along the lines of what Spike would call a jock, anyway."

"I see."

We put up the lights in silence for a few minutes, my mind racing with questions. I wanted to ask about the transmissions she sent, but something else bothered me. It started with the hesitation when she'd been asked about her home world. Then I couldn't help but notice the missing pieces of the puzzle.

"Smallfoot?"

"Yes?"

I tried to come up with the right words. "How long have you been on Earth?"

She stopped, and looked away from me. "I'm not a very good liar, am I?"

"I don't know if the others noticed, if that makes you feel any better." I walked toward her. "But you've asked a lot of questions about us, our technology and home world. But you've not really asked anything about Earth. And... well... you understood Christmas That was sort of a giveaway."

"I didn't really think about it."

"Where are you from?"

"I really am from Gobotron, just like I said. But... I was on Earth, when it happened. When the Master Renegade came."

"The Master Renegade?"

"The creator of our enemies. He tapped into... something. I'm not sure what. And he changed. He became something else... something from a nightmare. He.. he destroyed Gobotron. And then he came for Earth.

"Even with the combined fleets of the Guardians and Renegades, we couldn't stop him. We had one choice, an experimental technology. During our battles with the Renegades, a transporter malfunctioned, and sent three Guardians to a parallel world. After that, our scientists tried to perfect the technique. They called it transwarp."

"Transwarp?" I rubbed the back of my head. "That's the sort of theoretical stuff Perceptor's been working on."

"We hadn't researched it enough, it wasn't ready. But they started to send us through. Our only job was to find a way to stop the Master Renegade... even as our world..."

"Smallfoot..."

"When I came through the warp, I was badly damaged. Something called out from the darkness, and it changed me into this newer form. And then I found myself in the city, and I thought I heard him. The Master Renegade." She paused, her voice weakening. "My home... we were all given pieces of the transwarp schematics, but... none of that really matters now, does it?" Without the others, there's no way to get home."

"They might still be out there," I offered. "The same way you did."

"But they could be anywhere. And besides..." her voice trailed off.

I took a step toward her, and reached out. My hand stopped just short of her shoulder, and I wasn't sure what to do. I started to pull it back, changed my hand what felt like a few dozen times, then finally rested it on her shoulder. She turned back to look at me, our optics meeting and taking one another in for a moment.

"You'd be welcome here."

"I think I'd like that."

An idea crossed through my mind, and I filed it away, deciding to talk to our brain trust about it later. I then focused my attention back on the lights. "Well, maybe we should work more on these lights. Since you know about them, they must have Christmas on your Earth, too?"

"We did."

"They're probably a lot alike," I smiled. "Except you might not have had a cranky CMO running the halls."

She actually managed the slightest of laughs. "He wasn't a CMO."

We talked more about the holiday, and our comrades, and the memories we both had. I felt like she'd fit right in with the crew on the Ark. I liked the idea of having a new ally and friend. But I also felt nervous at the prospect. I didn't mistrust Smallfoot, so why did I feel that way?

I filed that one away to ask the brain trust later, too.

--

If Hoist ever felt any pangs of stress or despair, he never showed them. Instead, even as problems mounted, he kept a positive attitude that left even me bewildered. I'd found my way down to his maintenance bay, watching as he completed a refit on another Autobot. He stared at a side panel a moment, stepped back to observe it from another angle, then relaxed.

"Good as new, Skids." He rubbed a cloth over a smudge on the Scion's hood. "Now, you be careful out there."

The car transformed. "Will do. It's a little tricky, sometimes."

"Empty parking lots are an understated hazard," Hoist said, without a hint of irony in his voice. "Keep your mind on the driving, and you'll master them in due time."

"Thanks. I'll try." Skids gave me a nod as I left, and I walked into the bay.

"Ah, Bumblebee! How nice to see you! Don't tell me our guest has already gotten you into some sort of trouble?"

"No, none yet."

"Excellent! But then what brings you here? Need more lights, do you?"

"Not exactly." I laid out Smallfoot's idea, of giving Grapple a chance to rebuild the tower. I mentioned a site not far from us, a human tourist attraction that had been destroyed during a Decepticon plot. They might be willing to help, provided they could reap some profit from the new facility. Hoist listened, not offering a word the entire time, and then just stared for a moment after I finished.

"And our Smallfoot came up with this idea."

"Yeah."

"Brilliant!" If possible, he sounded cheerier than before. "I'm shocked I didn't think of the idea myself. We really must conspire to keep her around."

"Maybe we can." I said, and found myself smiling at the thought. "But I wanted to do something for her. Have you looked at her diagnostics from Ratchet?"

"Of course." While Hoist couldn't handle as many internal problems as Ratchet, our CMO always gave him any data he collected.

"You remember the neural pathways we found?"

"They were most odd."

"Do you think we could configure our Sky Spy network to pick up similar patterns?"

"She's looking for someone?"

"I think so."

"Mmm. I'm sorry, 'Bee."

"For what? We might be able to help her."

"I see your point." Hoist walked to a console nearby, and punched a few numbers in. He looked at the screen, then turned back to me. "I believe we can trace similar patterns, but it would take some time. I'd need the assistance of Ratchet and Wheeljack, no doubt."

"Okay. But maybe we can keep this quiet?"

"If you feel that's best."

"Thanks, Hoist. I should probably get back to Smallfoot now, though..."

"You didn't leave the poor thing alone, did you?"

"She's with Sunstreaker."

"Even worse. Better you make haste, before our darling little pick-up acquires some of his less admirable traits."

--

Over the next few weeks, things went quietly. Sunstreaker only got into three fights, two of them with his brother, and none of them required major repairs. Ratchet became easier to deal with as the big day approached, as did Cliffjumper. Even Wheeljack took great pains not to blow himself up. A real feat, since he'd taken my little project as a personal challenge.

It turned out that Smallfoot worked well with design, and the first pieces of our reborn Edoian Tower went in place. I'm not sure Hoist managed to pull the plans from Grapple, but they proved easy to adapt for Earth. Quite a few Autobots helped out, though I'm not sure if it was to help Grapple or Hoist more.

I spent a lot more time with Smallfoot, and strange things continued to happen. As I grew more comfortable, that slight feeling of discomfort grew, as well. I found myself choosing my words more carefully, even working through entire conversations in my mind. I also started to take notice of my appearance. Having Sunstreaker as a friend gave me a quick reference for the best waxes and polishes. He found the whole thing amusing, for whatever reason. I never felt real sure about why 'Streaker did anything.

I emerged from recharge Christmas morning, a few vague details from another stasis lock dream floating through my head. I tried to force them out, and focus instead on our big day. I moved carefully through the halls, and in turn gathered our motley crew of conspirators. Hoist, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Huffer, Brawn, Inferno, Jazz and, of course, Smallfoot.

All of us, save Jazz, worked our way to the front of the Ark and transformed. It took a few minutes longer than expected, and we heard Grapple's complaints issue from the open doorway of the Ark.

"Honestly, you must be kidding. Urgent? At this time? Preposterous. Why, I--" He stopped as soon as he saw the rest of us, He arched one optic ridge as he looked at the assembled group. His gaze stopped once he reached Hoist.

"You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Oh, not at all. We just think you should see something."

He muttered something under his breath I don't feel comfortable repeating, then transformed. The drive took half an hour. Grapple complained for the first part of the trip, until Jazz finally had enough and blared Christmas music across the comm frequencies. Finally, we reached the site. We all transformed back to robot mode, save for Grapple, who seemed unable to do much. When he finally did convert back to robot mode, he stared at all of us with his jaw hanging open.

"This... this looks just like my Edoian Tower."

"It will be, eventually. At least in some ways." Hoist patted him on the shoulder. "Do you remember why you built it? In the spirit..."

"Of discovery, brotherhood and peace." He couldn't stop smiling, an odd expression for him. "Hoist, you've outdone yourself."

"Don't thank me," he said. "It was Smallfoot's idea."

I saw Grapple cast a look at her. "Whatever gave you such a thought?"

"I guess you could call it the spirit of the season," she said.

"There's only one problem." Grapple said, and gave us all pause.

"What's that?" I asked.

"This won't do."

"Well," Hoist said, "We could find another spot, or perhaps we could--"

"I can't copy myself. I suppose there's only one thing to do." Grapple stared at the framework in front of him, and then gave a smile. "We make a better one. We can work off this frame, but you haven't ordered materials yet, have you? This metal framework isn't Earth-like enough. We need stone, and perhaps some glasswork on the north side..."

--

"It's just like Christmas on my Earth," Smallfoot said as we walked down the hallways of the Ark.

"It's amazing. I haven't seen Grapple this happy in a long time."

"Sometimes people just need one thing," she said.

"Speaking of that... I have something to show you."

I took hold of her hand to guide her down the hall. Yet, as I did, both of us froze and stared at one another. It felt... strange. Not in a physical way. Her hand felt no different from any other. But somehow, I felt like I'd passed through some unseen barrier, and neither of us knew how we felt about it.

It took a moment to shake it off. I led her down the hallway, picking up speed until we reached the door to Wheeljack's lab. I pressed the signal button and it opened. Inside stood the engineer himself, along with Hoist, Ratchet, Perceptor and Sunstreaker. The lambo had his armed crossed over his chest.

"Took you long enough," he snorted.

"Sorry."

He looked to Smallfoot. "Don't worry. We're not going to break out into song."

"Bumblebee told us a little about... your problems." Wheeljack pointed to a monitor. "Now, we wanna keep it just between us right now, until we know more. But you've got that interesting neural pattern, like yer a human stuck in a Cybertronian body. It's something we can trace."

"You mean...?"

"We haven't started it yet," Perceptor said, and stepped away from the console. "We thought we might leave that honor to you."

She stepped forward, and I took a place next to her, and guided her through the systems. It took Teletraan-1 only a moment to give the results.

"Signals matching the signature given located. Exact positions still being calculated, but one hundred and eight unique signatures discovered."

"One hundred and eight?"

"You're not alone, Smallfoot. And, if we can, we'll help you find them."

--

I came out of recharge with a start that night. I vaguely recalled the images that haunted me... burnt out husks of once vibrant worlds, the screams of terror that Smallfoot sent to me during that first encounter, and a strange, swirling blue storm that somehow felt familiar.

And throughout it all, I heard laughter. Laughter I'd never heard before, but I recognized without question.

The laughter of the Master Renegade. The man who finally destroyed their world, and countless others.

The man, in their language, they called Unicron.


End file.
